WHEN the genial and observant Mr. Samuel Pepys rolled over London Bridge toward Kingston and Hampton Court in Mr. Cutler's coach, he found it "a very pleasant journey." So, also, as the Diary records, when he took his little excursions to many other grand old houses and gardens-such, for instance, as Lauderdale House, Highgate, and Evelyn's tasteful home- he found much that was "mighty fine" and very pretty. And how vast has been the increase, since his day, of those fair dwellings and picturesque retreats which form that lovely fringe the suburban homes of London !

Wonderful London! No place on earth has more varied and beautiful surroundings than "that monstrous tuberosity of civilized life," as Thomas Carlyle has somewhat gruffly styled the capital of the world.

As a matter of fact, there are two Londons: the one circumscribed by the Temple Memorial (marking the site of Temple Bar, which was removed in 1878,) and Southampton Buildings on the west; by Holborn, Smithfield, Barbican and Finsbury Circus on the north; by Bishopsgate Without, Petticoat Lane, Aldgate and the Minories on the east; and the Thames on the southcovering an area of one mile square, and given over almost entirely to commerce and finance; and the other and greater London, involving this precinct and a vast aggregation of people spreading over 150 square miles of surrounding territory. There are also two other Londonsone, the City and East End, embracing that part of the metropolis lying east of the Temple Memorial, which includes the City, with its vast financial machinery, the General Post-office, the Exchange, the Corporations of the

Inns of Court, the Custom-house, the chief printing and publishing houses, the multitude of counting-houses and warehouses, bankers, and the docks with their immense marine interests; the other, the West End, the portion of the town lying west of the Temple Memorial, comprehending the quarters of state and fashion. The West End contains the palaces of Her Majesty; the town residences of the rest of the royal family; the homes of the nobility and aristocracy, the barracks, clubs, Houses of Parliament, Government offices, galleries of art, museums, theatres, fashionable parks, squares and gardens. The East End is devoted to money-making; the West, to spending it. The East End is redolent with the odors of wines and spices, noisy with the eternal grind of moneymaking machinery, the ceaseless clicking of golden pelf; the West End is the domain of luxury and ease, embodying the accomplishments of civilization wrought by centuries of gradual refinement.

The River Thames marks another line of demarkation, separating the Surrey and Kentish portion of "Modern Babylon" from that lying in Middlesex and Essex. Londoners recognize this difference by the "Surrey Side" and the "Middlesex Side." Following the left bank of the Thames beyond the city, "one comes to a stretch of country known as The Long Shore, extending for miles along the river, covered with engine - factories, walehouses, marine stores, and populated by lightermen, sailors, shipwrights, sailmakers, and others who have to do with the sea and its belongings."

There are Houndsditch and the Minories, and the Hebrew quarter; Bethnal Green and Spitalfields, with

On the Surrey side are Southwark and Lambeth, given over largely to potteries, glassworks, breweries and the fabrication of machinery; Bermondsey, with its glue factories, wool warehouses and extensive tanneries; and Rotherhithe, with its ever-shifting population of coalheavers, sailors, stokers, ship-carpenters and bargemen.

The suburbs of London on the north are Agar Town, Camden Town, New Town, Canonbury, Kentish Town, Islington, Hampstead, Highgate, Highbury, Holloway, Hornsey, Pentonville and Muswell Hill, pronounced by cockneys "Mussil 'Ill."

On the northeast are Bethnal Green, Clapton, Hackney, Hoxton, Old Ford, Dalston, Kingsland and Stoke Newington. On the southeast we have Bermondsey, Rotherhithe, Lewisham, Greenwich, Blackheath and 'Woolwich. The south boasts of Walworth, Camberwell, Newington, Kennington, Brixton, Streatham, Norwood, Dulwich, Sydenham and Peckham. On the southwest lie Lambetli, Vauxhall, Battersea, Chelsea, Wandsworth, Putney and Fulham. On the west, Kensington, Brompton, Bayswater, Notting Hill, Paddington, Westbourne, Hammersmith, Walham Green; and on the northwest, Portland Town, St. John's Wood, Kilburn, Maida Vale and Brondesbury.

TRANSLATIONS OF SHAKESPEARE. NOTEWORTHY is the number of translations of Shakespeare's works into other languages. Up to 1870 there were no less than twenty-seven translations, by as many translators, into German; three into the languages of Holland; three into Italian; two into Portuguese, and two into Spanish. Up to 1870 there were nine translations into French of Euvres Complètes de Shakespeare," and five translations of the chief works of the bard. Either the whole or part of Shakespeare's works has been translated into Danish, Swedish, Frisian, Hungarian, Bohemian, Polish, Russian, Wallachian, Romaic and Bengalee. In 1867 there was published in Hindo stanee the complete works of the great dramatist. And this by no means exhausts the list, for since 1870 there have been other translations of the whole or of portions of his works into some of the dialects of Europe and into languages of Asia. Two translators have been crowned heads, and they have given the most plebeian patience and diligence to their labors.

PAPER DOORS.

HOW SURPRISED our forefathers would have been at the possibilities developed in paper! Doors, which one would think were polished mahogany but that they swing so lightly, and are free from swelling, cracking or warping, are composed each of two thick paper boards, stamped and molded into panels, glued together with glue and potash, and then rolled through heavy rollers. These doors are covered with a waterproof coating before being painted and varnished and hung in the usual way. Few persons can detect that they are not made of wood, particularly when used as sliding doors. Black walnut is said to be getting very scarce, but picture-frames are now made of paper and colored like walnut, and are so perfect that no one could detect them without cutting them.

In France, handsome pianos are manufactured from paper. A beautiful musical instrument of this kind has lately been an object of great curiosity to the connoisseurs and musical savans of Paris. The entire case is made of compressed paper, to which is given a hard surface and a cream-white, brilliant polish. The legs and sides are ornamented with arabesques and floral designs. The exterior, and as much of the interior as can be seen when the instrument is open, are covered with wreaths and medallions, painted in miniature by some of the leading artists of Paris. The tone of this instrument is said to be of excellent quality, though not loud. The broken, alternating character of piano music is replaced by a rich, full, continuous roll of sound resembling somewhat that of the organ. Only two of these instruments have been made.

TECHNICAL EDUCATION IN GERMANY.

THE young chemist whom the German manufacturer attracts to his works ranks very high in the general scientific training which is essential to the successful cultivation of the habit of theoretical and experimental research, and in the consequent power of pursuing original investigations of a high order. Moreover, the research laboratory constitutes an integral part of the German factory, and the results of the work carried on by and under the eminent professors at the universtities and technical colleges are closely followed and studied in their possible bearings upon the further development of the industry. The importance attached to high and wellorganized technical education in Germany is demonstrated not only by the munificent way in which the scientific branches of the universities and the technical colleges are established and maintained, but also by the continuity which exists between the different grades of

education.

It is the close observation of little things which is the secret of success in business, in art, in science, and in every pursuit of life. Human knowledge is but an accumulation of small facts made by successive generations of men—the little bits of knowledge and experience carefully treasured by them growing at length into a mighty pyramid.

HERES THE NEW YORK

THE day was warm. The blue sky seemed to swoon languorously over the silver beeches. Great trees stood up alone like monarchs in the golden air, and there was a haze of heat over the wide, sunny glades that were unshadowed from the sky.

The hue of that sky might have suggested that which tints the heavens over Venice and her palaces, but this was the New World, and the spot was a slumberous town on a coast in Florida.

The two girls, who looked down from a cage-like balcony, perched on the side of the gray house, saw a green arched walk, an avenue of bitter-orange trees, and below Vol. XXV., No. 1-6.

them a sort of jungle of flowers-a lawless verdure that was very refreshing.

"The wild flowers have the best of it," said Dolly Poindexter; "the high-born blossoms have to give way before their lusty neighbors. Look at that sun-palmetto with its rough, red legs tramping about everywhere, and holding up its stiff, red fans so proudly in the very face of the lilies!"

"Like some plebeian who has made her way into a ballroom," said Marcia Allison, languidly, falling back into an easy-chair, and fanning herself leisurely with a fan of pale-blue ostrich-feathers.

She was an aristocratic-looking young woman, somewhat sallow, with a high-bred cast of countenance, and pale-blue eyes. Her ash-blonde hair was piled up artistically on her graceful head, and her tea-gown, of pale-blue crape and cream hued lace, was copied from a French picture.

"Suppose now, Dolly, as there is no possibility of going out, that you unpack the trunks to-day?" said the heiress, wearily.

Dolly looked out a moment longingly at the tops of the feathery palmettos in the distance. She was a slender young creature, her plain brown dress seeming to cling to the soft roundness of her lithe figure. Her skin was fair, but warmly tinted, as if with sunrays; her hair, a golden bronze, and her eyes, blue as Summer skies in Florida. But a mere catalogue of her charms would never convey the enchantment of expression, the irresistible sweetness of her face. The mere turn of her head, so prettily poised as it was upon the round, white neck, had been known to prove fatal to more than one young man's peace of mind. The full, delicately curved lips seemed made for laughter, and the vigor and fresh youthfulness of face and figure were in vivid contrast to the bored and languid air of the other, as she watched the piles of finery unfolded and arranged.

It was warm work for Dolly, but she was a poor orphan cousin, and not expected to be sensitive to the weather. Marcia did not pretend to consider other people's comfort. She was frankly selfish. She had never taken any trouble for others in her life, and had no aspirations for an angelic nature. She was thoroughly satisfied with herself and her belongings. She had always had things as she pleased, and she had no other expectation than that the future would shadow forth the past.

Dolly began to weary of the work, and her pretty face grew flushed. Marcia, too, found it monotonous, and sighed for a fresh sensation.

This is lovely enough to charm the very alligators," said Dolly, holding up a wonderful confection of white gauze and silver embroidery. Something fell from it as she shook it out. "What's this?" cried the young girl, picking up the article from the floor.

"Guess!" said Marcia.

"It's too large for a bracelet, and too small for a necklace."

66

The mystery deepens. Come, Dolly, get up a romance about it. You remember you have a talent in that line. I am ready to be amused."

The object on which Dolly's dark-blue eyes were fixed was a band of beaded work, somewhat worn and discolored.

"I can make out a monogram. The letters are M. A., and the flowers are fleur-de-lys, I think. M. A., Marie Antoinette."

"That's an inspiration," cried Marcia; "there's enough foundation for your fiction."

"But what is it in reality?" asked Dolly.

"It was given me by a German girl, who worked it for me one Christmas, and it's for the purpose of hanging a pair of scissors on to one's belt, made for notable German housewives, of course."

"And most useful, for, of all inanimate things, scissors are the most depraved," said Dolly. "They get out of the way when they are wanted, as if they had legs.. I wish you'd give this to me."

"I will, if you'll make a story on it," said Marcia. "It looks as if it had been through the wars. Oh, do, Dolly, get up something to keep me from being bored to death, Anything to pass the time!"

"MR. P. T. BARNUM, DEAR SIR: Although I am a foreigner, I am not a stranger to your efforts for the instruction and amusement of the American people. I have watched with sympathetic interest your efforts to collect curious and interesting articles from the past and present. Your countrymen are apt to forget, in the rush and hurry of business life, the interest that circles about the past and those famous in song and story; but you have done what you could to present it. I have read of the ancient nurse of your great Washington, of the woolly horse, and the wonders from all lands which you procure at immense expense, so that I regard you as a benefactor of your race. I hereby send you an interesting relic, which has been preserved as an heirloom in our family for years. I feel that I should not selfishly keep it to m self. I am an old woman now, and the time must soon come when I shall be called away from all my treasures. The place for this one is in a public collection, for it is a memento of the lovely and i.lfated Queen Marie Antoinette. At the moment when the illustrious captive was led out to execution, and had parted, with that tenderness which distinguished her, with her attendants, my revered ancestor, Madame Campan, pressed near her. She wished to be the last to look on that lovely face, so marred by sorrow. Blinded by tears, she touched the beloved hand. The Queen looked at her with sorrowful eyes. "Oh, my friend," she said," what can I give you for a token of my love? I have parted with all. I am poor indeed." It was a fact. This Queen, who had once had a realm at her command, had nothing left. Her last gift to a weeping attendant had been the little silk kerchief from her neck. Suddenly a faint smile illumined, like a pale ray, that face so wan with pain. Then she stooped and took off this garter, and laid it in Madame Campan's hand. That was her last gift. How it recalls to me

ever the scene so oft described-which has been one of the

cherished legends in our family-that tragedy of unquenchable sorrow! Madame Campan was my great-grandmother. The treasure has come down to me, but I feel that I am not false to the great trust when I give it to you for the benefit and instruetion of this grand American people. Let them not, in their mighty and prosperous present, scorn the lessons of the past. I feel that in a great collection such as yours this touching memento will be safer than in my possession. I therefore present to you this inestimable relic of the past, with a sincere hope that it may prove as interesting to those who throng your museum as it deserves, and that you may be prospered in your estimable ambition to elevate the tastes and inform the minds of your worthy countrymen. With sentiments of respect and esteem, "EUGENIE DE MIRECOURT.'"'

Marcia listened with delight.

'What a delicious little humbug you are!" she cried. "Won't it be fun to guy the prince of humbugs! Let's send it off at once. Well! I never thought I'd get such fun out of the old thing. I imagined it was lost years and years ago."

And the languid young woman grew quite animated in procuring paper, pens, etc., for the document.

"Seal it with this ring," she said; "make it look very important. I'll send Manuel to post it at once. We'll be sure to hear from it."

"And I'm too far off for Mr. P. T. Barnum to find out that I am not Madame Campan's great-granddaughter," cried Dolly, her eyes luminous as stars, as she ran down to find Manuel. Having sent him on his errand, she strayed out of doors.

She did not mind the heat. It was pleasanter under the avenue of bitter-oranges than in the house. The light sifted through the leaves, yellow and green, and the fruit hung like lamps of gold on the boughs. Through the jungle of flowers Dolly next made her way, her palmetto hat protecting her face from the sun. She had twisted a bunch of the creamy roses in it with an artistic touch. The sunlight gave a depth to her eves and a glow to her cheeks that deepened as she heard a voice calling her.